


Checkmate

by spacefucker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Chess, Clint is an awkward potato esp. when it comes to steve, Demisexual!Clint, M/M, Pining, anyway, clint thinks things are impossible but clearly he's missed something, clint's got a sailor's mouth, demiromantic!Clint, do u know how many times I almost wrote 'Clit' instead of 'Clint'?, natasha is a good bro and also done with clint's shit, negative sense of self-worth, so much swearing, steve is very well versed and not afraid to get the ball rolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7134953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacefucker/pseuds/spacefucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is head-over-heels, butterflies in the stomach, blush across the nose in love with Steve. He's not sure that he deserves him, though, or if love is within his grasp. So he sticks to giving gifts and pining from afar. Until everything is kicked up several notches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I feel like I'm the only one that enjoys Clint/Steve -_-
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I want something where Clint is totally head over heels in love with Steve. He leaves him anonymous notes/letters and small gifts. He also kinda stalks Steve (but not in a creepy way!)
> 
> Rating and length is up to you! I'd love you even more if they get together *wink wink* And if they do "get together" Clint must be the pitcher if you catch my drift ;)
> 
> May the fluff, angst, and smut ensue! «^_^»

Clint is in love with Steve.

Love was a strong word, he supposes, at least it is in the context of romance. Although, he really has no frame of reference so what does he know anyway?

He expected Natasha to tease him about it but she was surprisingly supportive. Not that it really helped either way because neither of them were exactly experts. For all their field training, for all their fucked-up childhoods, for each and every back-alley encounter and honeypot mission most of what they knew on the subject of love was that it was for other people.

Hired gun. Assassin. Carney. Rent-boy. Brainwashed. Manipulators and manipulated. Monsters in their own right. Before they were heroes they were what went bump in the night. That’s who they were.

Clint hid behind sarcasm and jokes to hide his pain because he wasn’t skilled like Tasha when it came to schooling his features and keeping his voice level. Both of their mechanisms were not healthy so at least there’s that.

Romantic love is weird, then. It’s so difficult to distinguish. For the longest time he figured he would never feel that way with someone. It had never really happened before. It seemed to only prove to be true over the years. All things considered he did love his team. They were his friends, practically family, and he hadn’t had this kind of true companionship in years.

He counted himself lucky.

There are many people who don’t have the privilege to ever find their family. For years Clint was sure he would be one of those people who stayed under the radar, did his duty, and passed away with no funeral service. Just straight in the ground.

There was nothing slow about the way Clint fell in love with Steve. It all happened one evening on their weekly movie night a good six months ago. It was Steve’s night to pick what they were ordering in. People were trying to sway him one way or another. Natasha with Vietnamese or Tony with the curry that he was pretty sure was slowly eroding his stomach lining.

Clint had been uncharacteristically quiet, though. His arm was in a sling, thanks to the through-and-through in his shoulder. Bandaids, gauze, and tape littered his face and arms. Not to mention being on strict rules for rest and the order to keep his knee elevated at all times.

So there he was, looking sad as can be, quiet on the couch. He hadn’t even been looking at Steve. His focus was on zoning out on the title screen of the first Jurassic Park.

Without any warning Steve had sat right next to Clint, careful of his injuries, and propped his legs up on the ottoman with his own.

“I’m gonna have to say pizza, wings, and breadsticks.”

Clint remembered being surprised. He’d looked at Steve, eyebrows pinched slightly, confused but pleased. His mouth quirking into a small smile.

There had been a chorus of groans and a confirmation from Jarvis that their favorites had been ordered. Clint hadn’t really heard them, though. Steve was smiling, looking down at Clint fondly, and when he met his eyes Steve smiled.

In that moment Clint’s heart had honest-to-god skipped a beat.

“Thanks, Cap.” He managed to croak out.

Steve leaned over to shoulder tap him lightly and _winked_ , “No problem.”

So Clint had been figuratively fucked from then on.

And oh, did he want to be literally fucked.

He wanted to run his fingers through Steve’s golden hair. Every time Clint stepped behind him he wanted to press his hand against the small of his back. His fingers itched to feel Steve’s hips in his hands.

But he wanted the domestic shit, too. Like waking up with him every morning possible for the conceivable future. He wanted to make him dinner and rub his back after a long day. Not to mention the pull in his gut and absolute _fondness_ he had for Steve _._ He had the strangest compulsion to make Steve things. He wasn’t an artist with paper and pencil but he had a knack for carving.

If Clint were honest with himself he’d say he would marry Steve. In a heartbeat. Natasha had known that before he did. There was no sly glint in her eye when she brought it up, either. Just a small, pleased smile and a warm clap on his shoulder.

Clint had no fucking idea what to do.

So what he did was suffer.

He maintained usual contact. He didn’t alter the way he treated Steve in any way. If he was a little more vigilant during missions when he was covering Steve no one said anything about it.

“Why aren’t you letting yourself have this?”

Clint jumped, coffee sloshing wildly in the pot he was holding, “Christ on sale, Nat!”

“We don’t get a lot of chances for love, Clint.” Natasha added, taking Clint’s cup and adding more cream and sugar than necessary before taking a sip.

“Exactly.” Clint sighed, pulling another cup down for himself. “Love doesn’t happen often and when it does it isn’t easy.” He started to pour himself a cup but stopped short, shrugged, and just took a long swig from the pot. “I mean, just look at Pepper and Tony.”

Natasha rested her hip against the counter and frowned over her cup at him, “People don’t always work out, Clint. It’s not a one-and-done thing for everyone.” She took a sip of her coffee and tapped her fingernails against the ceramic. “Besides, Pepper and Tony are still close. They still love each other. On top of it all: Tony and Bucky are together.”

Spit-take. “What?!”

“Well, not _officially_. But they have been dancing around it for a while, so.” She smiled, “You didn’t pick up on that? Seems like someone is too focused on something else to notice.” Her smile was practically predatory, “Or _someone else_.”

Clint sighed, “Come on, Nat.”

“So, what? You’re just going to carve him little figurines, make his coffee, and cook for him for the rest of your life?”

He tried to not be embarrassed about any of that. So maybe Clint had made him little things. He had found out about Steve’s love of chess and had promptly set out to carve him an entire set. Every time he got a new one done he’d leave it right outside Steve’s room. He may have also made him an artist’s pose doll that was more proportional, larger, and had more movement.

Clint knew a lot about Steve. How he liked his coffee, his favorite pasta, where he liked to go to relax, that he was ticklish, and how he liked to have his hair pulled.

That last one had been found out completely by accident. A happy accident.

“Yeah, so what if that’s my plan?” Clint chugged the rest of the coffee and set the empty pot down before belching. “I don’t see you doing anything about your thing.”

Natasha frowned and set her cup down, “That’s different.”

“It is like almost completely the opposite of different!” Clint laughed. “The only difference is that yours is Darcy Lewis. Which I didn’t expect, by the way.”

“I am done with this conversation.” Natasha sighed, “For your information, I’m waiting on Darcy because she hasn’t decided if she wants to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or not yet. I don’t want her decision to be based on me.”

With that, Natasha left without a backwards glance and slipped out of the door.

The communal space felt way too quiet for Clint’s liking. So he washed out the pot and started another for the next people to make it down before slipping out through an air vent. Just Because.

* * *

It’s been a week since Natasha decided to needle him about the whole thing and he has another chess piece carved. The last one, to be correct. It’s amazing what being annoyed and absolutely smitten can do.

It’s late. Or early, depending on your definition. The tower is mostly quiet. He knows Natasha is still up with Wanda, teaching her about poisons and how to care for a knife. Not that she expressly needs these skills. It’s mostly a bonding experience. A weird, creepy bonding experience.

Tony’s in his shop. Although, as he passes it to the elevator Clint sees that he is not the only one in there. Bucky is there, tight shirt and low-slung pajamas, muscled arms boxing Tony in against a work bench.

Clint walks faster.

He makes it into the elevator and takes it up to Steve’s floor.

He doesn’t know where Steve is today. Last he heard was that he was on a mission of some sort. Reconnaissance or something. Need-to-know, simple S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff. He knows that Steve gets all jittery when he’s still for too long. He’s definitely Colson’s favorite.

This is when he finds himself outside of Steve’s door.

Every time he does this, the last 31 times, Clint’s just stared at the door and wanted nothing more than to knock. Each time it gets worse. Like some sort of invisible pull. Problem is: he was almost positive that this _thing_ – whatever it is – is completely one-sided.

Clint clenches his jaw and palms the piece in his hand.

Before he has a chance to set the piece down Steve’s door slides open.

Clint freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and in the back of his mind he can hear his dentist giving him shit now with how much he’s grinding his teeth. Steve’s there with warm light pouring in from his apartment into the dark hallway. Clint curses literally every deity he can think of because _holy fucking shit_ Steve’s shirtless and his jeans are hung low on his hips and sweet mercy, Clint’s going to pass out.

After spending way more time than is proper staring at the V of Steve’s hips Clint’s eyes trace up a very well-toned set of abs followed by a magnificent chest. He can feel a blush creep across his nose and he _cannot believe this_ he hasn’t blushed like that since he was a fucking teenager.

Steve is smirking at him and Clint is pretty sure that he cannot take much more of anything before his heart just decides to give out. Steve’s face is faintly shadowed but his blue eyes are sparkling and there’s a halo of light around his mussed-up hair.

“Hey, Steve.” Clint manages.

“Hey, Clint.” Steve practically purrs and Clint can’t help the involuntary shudder that comes over him.

“I, uh, the thing is.” Clint tries.

Steve raises an eyebrow and leans against the door frame, crossing his arms, and _fuck_ if he doesn’t look smug as hell when he does. Like he knows what it’s doing to Clint.

Clint clears his throat and thanks god that sweaty palms isn’t something that happens to him, “Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.” Clint licks his lips and laughs nervously, missing the way Steve’s eyes track the movement of his tongue. “I have the last piece to your set.”

Steve’s smile goes a little less smug, a little less predatory, and takes on this look that Clint doesn’t want to admit looks like adoration.

“I’ve been looking forward to this.” Steve catches Clint’s eyes and nods back into the room.

Past a large bicep Clint can see his set arranged on a gorgeous wood board on Steve’s coffee table. There’s a spark of something in Clint’s chest that sets a wave of warmth crashing through him, knocking his breath out of his lungs.

He swallows, mouth dry, and snaps his eyes back to Steve. Clint can’t take much more of this.

“Here.” He says awkwardly, bringing up the piece and handing it out to Steve.

Steve stands upright and brings up one hand to pluck the piece from Clint and the other shoots out, whip-quick, to grab Clint’s wrist.

For a split second Clint is surprised and completely shocked with himself. He’s no strategist, not the best one, anyway. He’d read up on his chess, though, just in case he ever played Steve. Maybe Natasha was right and he was just not super observant outside of the field.

Steve ends up hauling Clint bodily into his room using Clint’s surprise and his strength to throw off his balance just enough. The door slides home and Clint finds himself spinning like it’s a fucking dance until his back is slammed against the closed door.

His mind is just a litany of curse words because he just can’t believe what’s happening. It feels like some sort of dream. Like one of his best fantasies is playing out in technicolor with surround sound. Being handled roughly like he weighs nothing is not helping his focus at all and fucking _Christ_ this show of strength has him already half-hard.

It feels like Steve is all around him practically ready to consume him whole. There’s a large, rough hand cradling his head, fingers in the hair at the back of his head, while the other is pressing fingertip-shaped bruises into Clint’s hip. There’s no preamble whatsoever and the next thing Clint knows is the warm, softness of Steve’s lips as he is kissed like it’s the end of the world. If it was he wouldn't mind in the slightest because he’d go happy.

Checkmate.

Before Steve can form any doubt in his mind Clint’s hands mold to Steve like they’re magnetized. One on a naked hip to pull him close and the other to Steve’s chest to rake his blunt fingertips from collarbone to the top of Steve’s jeans because _why the fuck not_? Clint plays dirty.

There’s a clash of teeth and what sounds like a hiss from Steve that turns into the filthiest moan Clint’s ever had the pleasure of hearing. Steve yanks on the hairs at the base of Clint’s neck and smiles against his lips at the groan Clint answers with before he pulls back. He’s just far enough away that Clint can see him but still feel the warm, soft puffs of his breath across his face and sweet god, Steve’s pupils are blown wide.

Clint tries to find his breath and slow his heart back down from dangerous speeds, focusing himself by counting the faint freckles across Steve’s nose.

“I’d apologize for reading too much into this, but.” Steve huffs, giving the slightest roll of his hips forward and Clint’s head falls back against the door with a thud, his jaw clenching as he hisses. Steve laughs a little and leans forward, “But, from what I can tell,” He mouths against Clint’s neck, “you’re more than willing.”

Steve bites down on the juncture between Clint’s neck and shoulder as if to ask _‘Right?’_ and Clint just barely makes a groan sound enough like a ‘yes’.

There’s a few moments of nipping teeth and, frankly, pornographic sounds as Steve takes his sweet-ass time sucking a bruise into Clint’s neck and boy, howdy is he enjoying every second. This is new information. Something Clint didn’t know.

Steve likes marking his territory.

Suddenly, Steve pulls away completely with a final lick to the tenderness on Clint’s neck and gives a smile that makes his knees weaker than the initial kiss did.

“Want to play a game?” Steve turns to the coffee table and puts a little extra sway into his hips, “Winner gets a prize.”

Clint’s moving forward without realizing it and manages a _‘fuck yes’_ and hopes, practically praying, that those Chess for Dummies books work because he just has to win.


End file.
